


Pre-Gaming

by jenni3penny



Series: McAvoys 1.0 [2]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: Pre-series, pre-relationship, pre-gaming. Will's early crush on Mac and how he responds when he hears she and Brenner are having some issues.





	Pre-Gaming

**Author's Note:**

> I guess the Hair & Makeup gals could be considered a little Mary Sue-ish but, eh, this was the only thing that was working for me. So, here we are... I hope you enjoy!

He's caught himself checking out her ass before, of course. Since the first day she'd shown up in the newsroom. She's phenomenally built and, goddamn it, he's a hot-blooded single man, right? She's a beautiful woman, all around spectacular, and it's not like he pants around behind her or anything, mouth-breathing down the back of her neck. Ask him for an outright answer and he'd tell anyone that Mac's good people, a good package, and an all-around excellent woman. Hell, he'd tell her that himself if she asked his opinion on it. And sure, yes, he's caught himself checking out the back side of her...

He's just never been caught checking out her ass (in the mirror, no less) by someone _else_.

“Oh, you just didn't,” one of the ladies in Hair & Make-up mutters over him.

“It's... it was reflex, all right? She's...”

The woman at his back snorts out a laugh in the middle of his silence. She shakes her head and stills the comb in her hand, nodding at their combined reflection in the wall length mirror. “That she is.”

“Shel - ”

“She's too young,” for _him_ , that's what Shelly says, what she means.

Because Michelle is only two months younger than he is and she's also absolutely sure that she knows what's good for him.

Most of the women in Hair & Make-up are absolutely sure that they know what's good for him and they're right more often than he'd like. Especially when it comes to his hair, actually.

“I don't think she's that much younger than we are, .” He groans and lets his eyes sink closed, leaning into the continuation of the comb. “Old enough to tell me what to do all the time. She bosses me around like - ”

“You can't look at that woman like a woman, Will,” Shelly murmurs over him, her voice more serious as she stops her movements and grips the back of the chair he's in. The sudden shift into seriousness has him opening his eyes and he notes that she's still behind him. That they have the attention of one of the other girls as well. And thank Christ that nobody else is in the room. “You start looking at her like a _woman_ and you're gonna start fantasizing and as soon as that happens - ”

“You're gonna crash and burn.” Sophie adds from the opposite side of the room, a Starbucks cup curled between her hands, her manicured nails painted a pink so brash and hot that it near makes him flinch as he watches her stand in the mirror's reflection. “That woman will wreck you, buddy.”

The older of the two nods swift agreement before she ruffles her fingers in his hair, slowly cards through it so that she can feather it back a little. “She's not relationship material right now anyhow.”

Sophie snorts with a 'hmmph' of agreement as she steps nearer. “Not now. No way.”

Wait... He frowns, spine shifting straighter. “Wait, why?”

“No reason,” the younger of the two begs off before she sips at her cup, licking away some froth and foam from the edge. There's a lipstick line on the white rimmed edge of the cup lid and he's absolutely fascinated by the mauve toned color of it.

But he's also absolutely fascinated by the possibility that MacKenzie McHale is not spending every night in a bed with Brian Brenner.

“Ladies... c'mon, now.” And he flashes that grin that usually saves him, the one that most often clinches the date, the deal. “It's just you and Billy Flynn, here.”

“Fucking love that grin.” Sophie says with a half a laugh in her voice, turning toward Shelly's patient and sharp-eyed observation. “It looks like apple pie tastes, doesn't it?”

The lighter of the two groans and shakes her head wearily in response, “Twice last week she wore the same skirt two days in a row but different shirts. But then new shirts from Nordstrom's are way cheaper than buying two new Vince pencil skirts.”

“Neiman Marcus is missing her already,” the younger one jokes back and Will frowns at the teasing, not consciously or intentionally. Still, he feels it weigh down the muscles of his face.

He shakes his head into frustration. “What the fuck language are the two of you speaking?”

“Two nights this past week she never went home.”

Wait... what? That's impossible. He would have known – not that he studies her or anything but...

Surely Mac woulda told him if... she would have hinted at needing a place to stay or, well, “Why didn't she just say something?”

“And tell the handsome and single news anchor she's befriended that she can't go home because her relationship is a hot dirty mess and she's obviously not sleeping, at home or anywhere else? The news anchor who can't seem to help watching her walk into or out of every room?” The younger of the two leans over his lap, her head angling right up toward his so that she can study the trim from the front. Her right hand leaves her cup long enough to touch up under his jaw, lifting before she taps against his lapel. “Yeah, right. Sit up straight, doll. Shoulders.”

Shelly's hands pause in cutting, both rising as he straightens in the chair and he can't see much past the way the younger brunette is grinning at him from half in his lap. He'd like to get her full in his lap someday. Fucking hell, Sophie is goddamn cute. She always has been, in that flowing-and-willowy-romantic-artist-in-an-over-sized-sweater sorta way. She's also, per Shelly, too young for him. And it's Shel's voice that startles him as she continues trimming behind his left ear, hands slow and gently moving. “You think she wants you to know that things at home are less than homey?”

“I think we're friends and - ”

“She doesn't want you to know that Brian Brenner is a massive cunt, Will.” Sophie finally shifts out of his line of sight and he's gotta follow her movement in the mirror, watching as she sips at her coffee with perfect mauve lipstick and hovers beside her mentor, watching Michelle's hands. “It's easier to pretend to be happy if the people closest to you don't know what's making you unhappy.”

He can feel the curtain fall down dark on his mood and the ache tighten in his shoulders. The spiked sharpness in his fists as he stares at himself in the mirror matches the tightness of his breathing.

Because suddenly his active imagination can visualize a whole otherwise unimaginable world.

One wherein home isn't happy for her and Brenner's the reason why and he's worried about so much more than just an argument over what to have for dinner.

“Oh, _Sad Puppy_ ,” Sophie's fingers catch at his hair softly, pulling his head back so that she can stroke through the blonde in an effort to comfort. “I don't think he's hurting her.”

“At least not where we can see,” Shelly adds gently before slapping the other woman's hands away. She smooths his hair back down and fluffs it into place before she starts again. “And we'd know if she was covering with make-up.”

He negates nodding because there's a pair of trimming shears awfully close to his right ear. “So... I probably shouldn't say anything?”

“You probably shouldn't go anywhere near her.”

He snorts his disagreement and flicks a glance back up to the mirror, relaxing his shoulders back as both women watch him. “That's obviously not gonna happen.”

“ _Right_ ,” Sophie murmurs and flicks a glance over his head at the other woman, one he can very well see as she arches an already precisely arched brow. “Good talk, McAvoy.”

 

* * *

 

 

She's long and graceful and it takes a double timed step and being perennially breathless just to fucking keep up with her these days. “Kenz?”

“Rundown,” she waves back at him as both and ackowledment and an order, a pen knotting her hair into a mess that she'll regret later. He's watched her try to detangle that knot at midnight, when she's tired and cranky and hasn't eaten in hours, hasn't slept in days, hasn't felt rewarded since undergrad.

Will catches his fingertips into the back of her shirt on the way down the hall and matches her pace, near overtakes it as he smooths silk under his palm. He catches the jerked way she turns her jaw in his direction as his hand spread against her lower back but even as she turns her head toward him she still doesn't match his glance. He'd usually use the awkwardness of that moment to pull back again, to withdraw from touching her or reaching for her or otherwise recognizing that she's a woman and he's definitely attracted to her. This time he's moving forward, not back. This time he's got inside information and he'll be damned if he doesn't use it to his full advantage.

“Two seconds?” he requests quietly.

“Will - ”

“Two goddamn seconds, Mac.” His fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt and jerk against it, his grip locking up and yanking back against her. He purposely steps around in front of her and she near trips into him, one of her hands catching against his bicep. “Look at me.”

“ _What_?” she snaps at him, regardless of the fact her fingers are curled into the fabric of his sweater and she's unconsciously rubbing the wool under the pad of her thumb.

And she may not notice (or care) that she's doing it but... goddamn, it's already distracting him from his purpose, from the intent.

“My door is always open,” he tells her, feeling like he can't get the volume on his voice up any higher than a humming. “For you.”

She blinks at him, her head drawing back with a smidge of a jerk in confusion. “What?”

“I mean... It's just that, well, I want you to know... No - ” Oh, for fuck's sake, they're friends. Right? At the least they've sorta become pals? So he shouldn't have such a hard time getting something like this out. “I just mean - ”

“Are you really this awkward at flirtation or are you trying to be subtle about something? Because I'm really very confused and - ”

“You're not going home at night lately,” he interrupts, bold but gentle. There's decisive force to his tone and even he isn't sure where it's come from – except he's fairly sure it's got something to do with wanting to defend her against Brenner and anything that's made her feel uncomfortable sleeping in her own fucking bed. A woman should never, _never_ , find herself uncomfortable in her own bed sheets so even the pained and panicked look she flashes at him for a brief moment, even that doesn't curb his force or the desire to punch the crap out of a man he's met with, literally, only twice.

She blinks and her hand stills flat against his arm, motionless as she swallows with obvious effort. “It's none of your business.”

“Kenz- ”

“Will, please? Just let it go?” She's never spoken to him like he's a best friend of hers until now, never used a tone that usually tells secrets. But she's also never made a request of him that actually makes his skin crawl. She's never asked him to do something so opposite his subconscious reflexes. “He's not hurting me, okay? It's nothing you need worry about.”

“I'm saying... _Mac_.” He can feel how hard he swallows and he can hear the desperation in his own voice (ridiculous as it makes him feel). Because he wants her to be happy and he can't stand the idea that another man is hurting her somehow, whether it's physical or not. It doesn't matter, not really. Because emotional damage can be just as traumatic as the physical and there's nothing he wouldn't do to Brenner, short of killing the fucker, just to make it stop.

Because it doesn't matter what their relationship may be – colleagues, acquaintances, friends, pals, what-the-fuck-ever... He's not going to just stand aside while she -

“I _hear_ you, Billy.” And it sounds like a promise she's making, like an agreement between the two of them and one she swears she'll never double back on. Pinky-swear-and-blood-oath type shit.

“Do you?” he demands harshly, squinting as she studies the seriousness on his facial features.

“Yes, I do,” Mac murmurs, her fingers lifting just lightly enough to brush the length of his jaw and there was never a moment imagined in his mind that matched this one. And he so suddenly feels the urge to kiss her that he has to clench that jaw tighter closed. “Thank you.”

“I mean it, Mac,” he grits through his teeth, enjoying her fingers pressing against him more than he ever figured he would have.

She simply nods her head before smoothing down his arm again, making sure fabric is unnecessarily straight before she pats against his chest and steps back. “I know.”

He's not sure, as she steps away, if he's made a mistake or not.

He just knows that the look she gives him is fractured and fractioned between fear and the sort of undeniable longing that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with wanting to feel secure in bed at night.

 

* * *

 

 

She bounces onto the couch cushion at his side like she's got energy bottled back and stocked up for the imaginary warehouse. So of course he suddenly feels all the ages older than she is, considering she's still in her mid-twenties and toned and he doesn't know quite how he's found himself with this gift of a woman beside him. He's not entirely sure why she's even attracted to him other than the fact she keeps laughing every time he compliments her energy or youth or kindness.

Sophie just gifts him with a smile, “I think you should go for it, y'know?”

Will just smiles to his side, watches her blow lightly over the steaming espresso she's finagled from the machine in his kitchen – like she _needs_ an espresso, like she _needs_ to be any livelier when he's barely got his eyes open. He'll be honest – she exhausted him and he'd rather just crash back onto the couch and nap the day away with her. “Hmm?”

“MacKenzie,” she nods sharply and once, as though making a simply logical argument. Her hair is a bit of a mess but fuck it's adorable and he lifts his left hand, uses his fingers to move it away from the slender stretch of her throat. “I think you should go for it.”

He thinks he could probably fuck her wild on the couch if she'd give him half a chance. Sophie or MacKenzie (though he doesn't allow himself to think about Mac that way – it's just a really piss poor idea, the ladies were right about that).

He may be sixteen years her senior but he's no senior citizen yet and he turns the backs of his knuckles down the side of her throat.

Besides, it's not like he hadn't thrown her up on the kitchen counter the night before.

“You realize how strange that sounds considering - ”

“Considering the fact I'm half naked on your couch right now?” she asks brightly (and she sounds _young_ ), arching her neck as he turns his fingertips onto her clavicle, pressing gently.

“Well,” he chuckles into a sort of surprised surrealism, “yeah, exactly.”

Sophie just makes a nodding motion of agreement, lifting the cup she has in one hand so that she can reach for his shoulder with the other. Will lifts his palms into guiding her, smirking as she straddles a bare thigh over him and lands herself square in his lap. He's momentarily thankful that he was at least mindful enough to put a loose pair of pajama bottoms on before sacking onto the couch beside her. Because he's not entirely sure where the conversation is going and he's not often so unsure of a woman and turned on by her at once. “Also because she has a boyfriend?”

“That as well.” He laughs again, lets her press the cup to his lips so that he can take a sip and then lift a hand into taking the cup from her. His shifting is careful and slow, one hand passing the cup off to the table beside the couch, the other hand rubbing against her hip while she smiles at him. “God, you're gorgeous.”

“But you don't get that same sweet little half smile when I walk into a room,” she tells him, like she's sharing a universal lesson with him, one she's learned over and over again.

“Mac's just...”

“Sexy,” Sophie tells him in a bright strike of an interruption - not that he necessarily needed the help. “Smart and sexy and Shelly's just jealous. She's not too young for you. She's wonderful, Will. Really.”

He knows these things, despite the fact he's been trying to ignore them.

He's been telling himself to ignore them, to pretend the knowledge does not exist.

Just for the sake of their friendship.

“You forget Brenner,” he murmurs, both his hands stroking up from her hips to her ribs, under the fabric of her sweater to find skin.

She makes a 'pffft' noise air puffing past her lips as she shrugs off his argument. “That's not gonna last. She's smarter than he is and he can't handle that.”

“Are we really talking about this right now?”

“Team McAvoy in the house.” She makes a roof-raising motion with both hands, messy hair bouncing along her shoulders as she wiggles up closer to his chest. She's tipsy on her knees, trying to find purchase on the couch cushions, and he shifts a guarding hand along her movements again, gripping on her hip while the other hand catches the back of her thigh. “We're just pre-gaming.”

And he can't help chuckling at her silliness, her prettiness, her vitality. He can't help adoring her despite the fact that they're so very far from similar. Despite the fact they both know that nothing more will come of anything between them. “You're a very interesting woman, Sophie.”

There's a softness to the way she looks at him after he says it, a gentle and warm sensuality to the dark roundness of her eyes. It's beautiful to watch tenderness color the way she looks at him as she collapses forward and against his chest. Her arm comes up to rest on his shoulder and he can't help but hook her closer, his head lifting as she leans into kissing him. It's nowhere near as hot and damp and fiery as it had been the night before, or even an hour before. It's soft and careful, it's made entirely of more tender things.

It's a kiss that tastes just exactly like a ' _goodbye_ ' if he'd ever otherwise had one.

“Y'know, I hear that a lot,” she murmurs gently onto his lips.

He smiles as she just studies him, her eyes fleeting over his features like she's memorizing something for a quick quiz. “I can imagine that you do.”

“You're a delightful man, William.” She kisses him chastely after saying so and he bunches the fabric of her sweater tight into his fist, wanting to remember the bulked worsted feel of it in his fingers. “You should always stay that way.”

 


End file.
